“Then I’ve come to the wrong shop.”

“That remains to be seen, Major.”

“But I was told you were a private detective, and all that.”

“So I am,” said Harley quietly.  “In 1912 the Foreign Office was my client.  I am now at the service of anyone who cares to employ me.”

“Hell!” said the Major.

He seemed to be temporarily stricken speechless by the discovery that a man who had acted for the British Government should be capable of stooping to the work of a private inquiry agent.  Staring all about the room with a sort of naive wonderment, he drew out a big silk handkerchief and loudly blew his nose, all the time eyeing Harley questioningly.  Replacing his handkerchief he directed his regard upon me, and: 

“This is my friend, Mr. Knox,” said Harley; “you may state your
case before him without hesitation, unless------”

I rose to depart, but: 

“Sit down, Mr. Knox!  Sit down, sir!” shouted the Major.  “I have no dirty linen to wash, no skeletons in the cupboard or piffle of that kind.  I simply want something explained which I am too thick-headed—­too damned thick-headed, sir—­to explain myself.”

He resumed his seat, and taking out his wallet extracted from it a small newspaper cutting which he offered to Harley.

“Read that, Mr. Harley,” he directed.  “Read it aloud.”

Harley read as follows: 

“Before Mr. Smith, at Marlborough Street Police Court, John Edward Bampton was charged with assaulting a well-known clubman in Bond Street on Wednesday evening.  It was proved by the constable who made the arrest that robbery had not been the motive of the assault, and Bampton confessed that he bore no grudge against the assailed man, indeed, that he had never seen him before.  He pleaded intoxication, and the police surgeon testified that although not actually intoxicated, his breath had smelled strongly of liquor at the time of his arrest.  Bampton’s employers testified to a hitherto blameless character, and as the charge was not pressed the man was dismissed with a caution.”

Having read the paragraph, Harley glanced at the Major with a puzzled expression.

“The point of this quite escapes me,” he confessed.

“Is that so?” said Major Ragstaff.  “Is that so, sir?  Perhaps you will be good enough to read this.”

From his wallet he took a second newspaper cutting, smaller than the first, and gummed to a sheet of club notepaper.  Harley took it and read as follows: 

“Mr. De Lana, a well-known member of the Stock Exchange, who met with a serious accident recently, is still in a precarious condition.”

The puzzled look on Harley’s face grew more acute, and the Major watched him with an expression which I can only describe as one of fierce enjoyment.

“You’re thinkin’ I’m a damned old fool, ain’t you?” he shouted suddenly.

“Scarcely that,” said Harley, smiling slightly, “but the significance of these paragraphs is not apparent, I must confess.  The man Bampton would not appear to be an interesting character, and since no great damage has been done, his drunken frolic hardly comes within my sphere.  Of Mr. De Lana, of the Stock Exchange, I never heard, unless he happens to be a member of the firm of De Lana and Day?”